<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>looking for the shapes in the silence by h_mellohi</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29537865">looking for the shapes in the silence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_mellohi/pseuds/h_mellohi'>h_mellohi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>? - Freeform, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Death, Character Study, Dream Smp, Gen, Ghosts, ghostbur gets bullied by his counterpart and then i think it gets better maybe fuck if i know, ghosts talking to ghosts, how do i even tag this., sure, yeah that works</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:54:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29537865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_mellohi/pseuds/h_mellohi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>two figures stand alone in an endless space.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>looking for the shapes in the silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So fun fact, i actually wrote like 2/3 of this sometime in the beginning of january, before doomsday even existed as a possibility. And then i found this while reading through old docs and thought, "okay, this actually isn't half bad, i could finish it."<br/>It's a bit different from my normal writing I think, but I hope you like it all the same</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind whips around two figures, </p><p>They stand in front of each other in a space undefined by objects.</p><p>A trenchcoat ripples in the invisible breeze.</p><p>He struggles to hold onto his blue.</p><p> </p><p>He looks up at this person in front of him.</p><p>Hands shaking from the cold.</p><p>Tilted head, wide eyes. He looks into that cold, sharp gaze.</p><p>And finds nothing familiar.</p><p> </p><p>He stares down in cold disgust.</p><p>There’s someone in front of him, with hunched shoulders.</p><p>Fingers tangled in some dripping blue mess.</p><p>Looking more fearful than any coward he had led into battle.</p><p> </p><p>Yet there is something, because they have the same curly hair.</p><p> </p><p>Same beanie, different color. What is with his skin?</p><p> </p><p>The same slash in the center of their chests.</p><p> </p><p>Why is this one bleeding. Why is he still bleeding?</p><p> </p><p>Who are you?</p><p> </p><p>Who are you?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>“Who are you?”</b>
</p><p> </p><p>He sounds like him, but not. Far crueler.</p><p> </p><p>He sounds like him, but not. More pathetic.</p><p>What the hell has become of him after he was killed?</p><p>Is this really what the afterlife has brought?</p><p>“Is this really what I become?”</p><p> </p><p>Every word is a barb digging through his yellow sweater.</p><p>Containing all the misplaced pity of his friends twisted into anger.</p><p>In the voice of his shattered mirror image.</p><p>“Are you… who I was before?”</p><p> </p><p>“This is disgusting. You’re telling me I don’t even get to go out for good?</p><p>“That I can’t leave my symphony unfinished and fade with the sunset?</p><p>“Instead, I'm relegated to this- this weak, cowardly version of myself--</p><p>“THIS IS NOT ME!”</p><p> </p><p>A flinch, a short gasp.</p><p>He gets no pity from the better or worse version of himself.</p><p>“Would you like some blue?”</p><p>It’s all he has. Another question, an offering, an opening.</p><p> </p><p>The dye scatters over the floor that is not a floor.</p><p>Dissipating, scattering, disappearing.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck is ‘blue’? Some cheap trick to garner pity?”</p><p> </p><p>“It- It takes your sadness away. Soaks it up.</p><p>“I- we- I- have a lot of sadness to soak up. I think.</p><p>“I don’t remember.”</p><p> </p><p>“That has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”</p><p>There is no reason to disguise the poison on his tongue, not for this sniveling idiot.</p><p>“There are no regrets. Nothing to be sad about. I did what I wanted to do. </p><p>“My L’manburg remains unfinished, forever destroyed. By me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like L’manburg. I helped rebuild it, with President Tubbo!”</p><p> </p><p>Silence. Cold silence, silence filled with seething anger, unimaginable fury and despair.</p><p> </p><p>“Why would you rebuilt it, why the FUCK would you rebuild it. </p><p>“I razed L’manburg for a fucking reason.”</p><p> </p><p>“I made some lanterns. The ones we used to make with Phil. Dad.”</p><p> </p><p>“Phil stabbed me. Killed me.</p><p>“His fault for creating whatever the fuck you are.</p><p>“Are you even listening to me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. It’s a happy memory for you.”</p><p>It’s bliss, it’s a finale.</p><p>Shutting his eyes against his weeping father’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“It is.”</p><p>It’s agony, it’s clarity.</p><p>Begging for his own father to bury his own sword straight through his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“I only remember the happy ones. Like-”</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t give less of a fuck, actually. Shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.</p><p>“Okay.” </p><p> </p><p>Silence, again. Blue dye is dripping onto the not-floor.</p><p>It ripples out in small droplets, staining the surface, unable to break the tension.</p><p>He in the trencoat looks for a way out, and finds nothing.</p><p> </p><p>A tired sigh.</p><p>“So you only remember the happy memories? Seriously?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Everyone likes me a bit better now, I think.</p><p>“I don’t like thinking of the bad memories.</p><p>“I don’t like thinking of you.”</p><p> </p><p>The fire within him burns  bright and hot, and he steps forward.</p><p>He grabs the yellow sweater of this stupid imposter.</p><p>His words are bitter snarls, spitting out the words like they hurt.</p><p> </p><p>They do.</p><p> </p><p>“So what, you try and forget me and make everyone else forget?</p><p>“I’m supposed to live on as this! Not as whatever the hell you are.</p><p>“I’m their reminder, orchestrator, I live on in them.</p><p>“You should never have existed in the first place.</p><p>“What a stupid thing you are, a fucking shell of what I once was.</p><p>“All you do is- what? Hand out your stupid dye and-”</p><p> </p><p>Thick blue tears roll down his gray cheeks.</p><p>It stains the opaque floor the color of the sky.</p><p>He turns in his shoulders, gripping his blue tighter.</p><p> </p><p>A scoff of disgust.</p><p>“I don’t understand what you’re crying for.</p><p>“Doesn’t everyone love you now? Prefer you to me?</p><p>“What’s there to cry over? You got what you wanted, right?”</p><p> </p><p>A push, a shove.</p><p> </p><p>Blue spills all over the ground.</p><p> </p><p>The floor is the ocean.</p><p>Silence. Sniffling.</p><p>Someone else is crying.</p><p> </p><p>“You got what you wanted, why didn’t I?</p><p>“Why can’t I just have my triumph?</p><p>“Why did you take this away from me?</p><p>“I hate you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay. You can hate me.”</p><p> </p><p>A hand cups his cheek, and wipes away tears.</p><p>They are both crying, now.</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. They love you,</p><p>“And I hate you, and they hate me and it’s all-</p><p>“It doesn’t matter anymore.</p><p>“This is how it was always meant to be.”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t have to be, you know.</p><p>“They want you back.</p><p>“And I want to move on.</p><p>“I want to make them happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would they want me back?</p><p>“What do I have left to give that you couldn’t fix for them?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not the one they miss.</p><p>“I know I’m only an echo.</p><p>“I could never be enough to replace you.”</p><p> </p><p>The hand hasn’t left his cheek.</p><p>Against all reservations, he leans into it.</p><p>Only half-corporeal, he feels himself slipping through.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be here with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“History is going to repeat itself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not if we don’t let it.”</p><p> </p><p>They both chuckle, in rue and in sorrow.</p><p>Two hands intertwine, passing through each other.</p><p>The wind has stilled, now.</p><p> </p><p>His hands are no longer shaking.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s time to come home.</p><p>“They’re going to be so happy to see you.</p><p>“Do right this time. Make right what I forgot to.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s going to be a lot, if I’ve gathered correctly.</p><p>“You’ll stay with me? Make sure I stay on track?</p><p>“I don’t want to feel alone again. I don’t want to be broken.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>“You won’t be alone again.”</strong>
</p><p>Words become indistinguishable from one to the other.</p><p>The undefined space folds in on itself, the stains fade away.</p><p>Wilbur opens his eyes to a bright blue sky.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>lol hope this wasn't shit </p><p>comments and kudos are greatly appreciated !!!</p><p>find me on twitter @sbimellohi</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>